


Not Just Anybody

by starseeker95



Series: All My Life [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CPR is a new thing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt Paul McCartney, Hurt/Comfort, John read something about CPR once when he was bored, M/M, Paul can't swim, Protective John Lennon, so there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseeker95/pseuds/starseeker95
Summary: A near-death experience brings long-suppressed feelings to the surface. Paul is lucky that John has a habit of reading anything and everything when he gets bored.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Series: All My Life [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909093
Comments: 85
Kudos: 170





	1. Paul

The sun was getting low in the sky, slowly falling into the distant waves. A gentle breeze ruffled through Paul’s damp hair, dragging some of it into his eyes, and he swatted the offending stands away. The scene before him was too beautiful to miss.

Just a little way off, George and Ringo were chasing each other in circles, batting water around and generally acting like little children. Up on the beach, Brian was reclining in a beach chair, occasionally sitting up to make sure that the boys weren’t fighting or had been kidnapped. Upon finding everyone accounted for, Brian slumped back down and dozed off again.

Kidnapping wasn’t much of a worry though. They’d been covertly spirited out of the hotel several hours before and had been delivered to the private beach for some fun without the risk of running into the media. Out of sight though, security was on the lookout, making sure that, if they were discovered, there would be time to whisk them all away again.

Paul scrunched up his nose and turned away from the antics of George and Ringo, searching for his favorite part of the scene. It didn’t take long.

Several yards out, where the water was a bit deeper, John floated on his back. With his arms spread eagle and only his face clearing the water’s surface, the other man reminded Paul of some kind of god, captured perfectly between the infinite sky above and the mysterious depths below. Paul couldn’t help but stare as John’s body easily rose and fell with the swells, a serene smile on his usually guarded face. He always looked so natural in the water, taking to it just as easily as he did to any old stage. Maybe even more easily.

Paul stalked closer to his bandmate, still a good ways away. It wasn’t long before the water had climbed up to his knees and over them, then up to his hips and belly. Still, he crept forward, determined to scare the shite out of John. No one had any right to look as good as John did in the water and there was only one solution: he would have to be dunked as a punishment. Especially after the way John had abandoned him earlier…

Paul moved a bit deeper, his feet scooting cautiously across the sandy bottom. The water barely reached his ribs, but the waves, though still on the small side, threatened to knock him off balance. He’d always been leery around water, largely because he couldn’t swim.

Another wave, a bit bigger than the rest, crested just under Paul’s chin and a cold knife of anxiety swept through the bassist. Hurriedly, he pushed it down, chastising himself as he inched a little closer. John was just a few feet away, still humming some nonsense tune with his eyes closed. Paul was close enough by then to see the dark strands of auburn hair that framed John’s face, the way they clung to his forehead and fanned out in the dark water. The sight really was breathtaking.

Only a few more steps and-

The drop off was so unexpected that Paul only had time to yelp before the water closed over his head and water filled his mouth.


	2. John

John smiled to himself and released a contented sigh. Miami had ended up being everything that home wasn’t: warm, sunny, beautiful… not that he didn’t like home. It was just nice to be somewhere with palm trees and an endlessly blue sky for once.

Flexing his legs and then relaxing them again, John thought of Paul and the way he’d looked earlier when they’d first arrived at the private beach. Though the bassist was still as ivory-skinned as ever in the sun, the sight of Paul’s slender, hair-dusted frame had admittedly made John’s heart skip a few beats. He’d barely managed to force his gaze way from those long, flawless legs when he then found himself lost in a pair of long-lashed hazel eyes.

After several cringe-worthy moments of being unable to tear himself away, John had thrown down his towel and had hurried out into the water, making sure to go deep enough to cover his steadily warming crotch. Though it had taken the cool water mere seconds to solve his growing problem, John had elected that it would be safest to stay out by himself. He hated to ditch Paul so obviously, but his little crush had steadily been becoming a bigger and bigger problem.

The muffled sound of shouting reached him through the water and John frowned to himself. Likely, George and Ringo had finally taken their play too far and Brian was yelling at them to knock it off. It wouldn’t do for one of them to give the other a black eye-

When the screaming suddenly intensified, John sighed heavily and tilted upright until his ears broke through the surface of the water. 

Brian’s voice reached him first, a hoarse cry unlike anything that John had ever heard from the usually collected man. His throat constricted, dread flooding his thoughts. Something had happened, something far worse than a little spat between George and Ringo was going on.

John turned toward the beach to find Brian waving his arms frantically as he ran into the shallows. Near him, George and Ringo had paused in their play fighting and were swiveling their heads back and forth, clearly looking for something… or someone.

John’s feeling of dread intensified as he quickly scanned the shoreline and then the surrounding water. Where was Paul?

Finally, Brian’s voice was clear enough to understand and John’s blood ran cold.

“Paul! He went under! John, Paul went under!”

John whipped around, desperately searching the surface of the water. But there was nothing, not even a splash to tell him where to begin. “Where!? Where was he last!?”

Brian pointed to John’s left. “He was right beside you and then he was gone! He just-”

Without a second thought, John plunged beneath the water’s surface, blinking rapidly against the salt water’s sting.

Below him, darkness stretched endlessly downward. With night falling in the sky above, the ocean itself had been transformed from a welcoming friend into a foreboding abyss. John tried to calm his racing heart, but it was no use. Every second that Paul was under the water was another second closer to not finding him at all. And that just wasn’t an option.

He cursed himself for not having better eye sight as he desperately searched the depths, unable to see anything. Hurriedly, he surfaced long enough to take another quick breath before diving deeper, combing the water through his fingers in his rush downward. If he didn’t find Paul soon-

A familiar pale shape caught John’s attention, just a few feet deeper and rapidly sinking. Though his own lungs were burning for air, John clawed his way after the form and reached out, managing to grab ahold of what felt like a wrist. Taking it in a vice-like hold, John began kicking his way fiercely back to the surface, dragging Paul along with him.

Breaking through the surface, John gasped harshly and was almost immediately pulled under again by Paul’s dead weight.

The fact that Paul was indeed a dead weight and not thrashing around and making a nuisance of himself made John pause. Paul wasn’t moving at all…

A bolt of horror shot through John and he abruptly realized that the other man wasn’t reacting at all, wasn’t making a sound or trying to break through the water’s surface on his own. If Paul wasn’t trying to breathe, then-

John dug in deep, fighting his way toward the shore despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Water sloshed up into his mouth and he momentarily sank, losing the battle against the pull of the depths. Despite his own head periodically getting dunked and sea water pushing up his nose, John did his best to keep Paul’s face above the water as he doggedly struggled toward the beach. He had to get Paul on shore, had to get him breathing, had to-

Two sets of hands gripped him around the arms and John felt sand, sweet, blessed sand, reappear under his feet. John somehow managed to scoop Paul up bridal style as he stumbled through the shallows and then up onto the beach, George and Ringo flanking him on each side. Even as Ringo helped support him on his unsteady, trembling legs, John refused to let go of Paul.

John could vaguely hear Brian shouting in the distance, likely telling their security escort to call for help. But John knew that it could be a while before they could get anyone down to the beach though. The beach was private, after all, and a good distance from Miami’s heart. It could easily be a half hour before an ambulance got to them-

Paul was limp in his arms, entirely unresponsive as John fell to his knees and deposited him onto the sand. Trying his best to stay calm, John began pushing on Paul’s belly and chest as he tried to get his bandmate breathing. What had the dock workers and Mimi told him to do? What had that book said to try, the one he’d picked up at the hospital last year?

Paul’s eyes, usually so full of life, were half-shuttered and empty. He seemed to stare straight through him as John struggled to remember the instructions. John felt those listless eyes on him as he interlocked his fingers, straightened his arms, and began to apply his weight to Paul’s sternum in a steady rhythm. At some point, Brian returned, saying that help was on the way, but John didn’t spare the manager a glance. He continued working, trying to remember exactly how the sailors and Mimi had said it was done. Remembering something else, something from that hospital pamphlet, John leaned down and sealed his mouth over Paul’s, forcing air into the bassist’s lungs before he resumed working. 

John’s own choked sob startled him and his rhythm faltered momentarily as despair washed over him. He stooped to push more air into Paul’s water-laden lungs, muttering pleas into Paul’s soaked hair. “Please- please, Paulie, don’t do this to me-”

It might’ve gone on for hours, it might’ve only been a few seconds. At one point, Brian leaned forward and placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder. “Christ, John, please stop. This isn’t helping, he’s-”

But John shook him off and kept going, ignoring George’s quiet tears and the way Ringo pulled their youngest member in for a comforting hug. John ignored the way Paul’s arms were thrown wide, jerking every time he pressed down, and how Paul’s eyes remained fixed on the evening sky, sightlessly watching the colors fade into night. John ignored how Paul’s lips, the ones that he’d imagined kissing a thousand times, were cold, unresponsive and blue.

“John, please- stop- you’re making it worse, he’s gone-”

“NO!” John stopped just long enough to give George a venomous glare. Though he was rapidly being blinded by his own tears, John refused to give in. “He’s not allowed to do this! He’s not allowed to leave me too!”

The ‘too’ on the end of John’s sentence wasn’t lost on the rest of them and they fell silent, unsure of what to do. Ringo turned George away from the scene and shared a look with Brian, a new understanding for John’s determination passing between them.

A broken sound escaped John as he thought of how wrong this was, how wrong it was to finally touch Paul and have Paul not feel a thing. He’d lost his chance to really kiss Paul, to taste his breath without the excuse of a microphone between them. He’d lost the chance to tell Paul how he truly felt without needing a song to do it for him.

It was unreal. It was unacceptable.

John gritted his teeth and fought against the cramp beginning in his neck and back. “C’mon, love- come back to me- please-”

Beneath John’s hands, Paul’s body suddenly jolted and arched upward.

Startled, John barely had time to roll the other man onto his side before Paul vomited into the sand. Off to the side, George pulled back from Ringo’s grip and watched, disbelieving, as John began to firmly rub Paul’s heaving back. After a few moments, Paul finally drew in a single, wavering gasp. 

“Paul?” John helped the bassist sit up, shifting until Paul could rest back against his chest. “Can you hear me, son?”

A dull groan was his only answer, but it was enough to sooth some of the terror seizing John’s chest. Not caring if anyone saw, John swiped the bangs out of Paul’s face and brushed a chaste kiss across his jaw, thanking whatever god was listening that they’d sent Paul back to him. Paul didn’t seem to notice the gesture though as he continued panting and coughing, his body straining to expel the little bit of water that had made it into his lungs. “What- hap- huhh-”

Brian stood and jogged up the beach, calling to security as he went. They’d be taking Paul to the hospital themselves and would need to have a route cleared.

John moved to stand, but fell back down as the remaining adrenaline faded away. It wouldn’t have done to have moved anyway as Paul had begun to shiver violently, his head resting back against John’s shoulder. Though severely fatigued, John did his best to wrap himself around the other man and tried to ignore the sensation of Paul’s bare skin against his own.

“John?” Ringo’s face swam above him, leaning down until John’s blind eyes could focus better. The drummer’s face was worried, his mouth tugging down at the edges. “You feel alright?”

John nodded slowly, his body suddenly heavy and aching. He felt dizzy and wanted nothing more than to eat and smoke a ciggie in a nice warm bed. He’d get around to those things eventually, but not until he was sure that Paul was alright.

John tried once more to stand and barely managed to clamber onto unsteady feet, Paul’s shaking form still cradled in his arms. When George and Ringo came forward to help, John tightened his grip on the man in his arms. So, after wordlessly draping a towel around John’s shoulders and another over Paul, George and Ringo flanked John on either side as they made their up the beach to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CPR was still super new in the 60s having just been "invented" in the 50s. But for those living in Liverpool, a harbor town, I imagine that the sailors and dock hands had some method of reviving drowning victims before CPR became widely used. And Mimi might know something because she's a nurse. Anyway, that's what we're going with here. Cheers to Paul whump, yeah?


	3. Paul

Paul shuddered, unable to hold still. He felt lightheaded and confused, unsure of anything beyond the facts that his chest ached terribly and John’s skin was blessedly warm. A gentle rocking sensation (which surprisingly steadied his spinning head) told him that John was carrying him somewhere or another. Usually, this would’ve been embarrassing. But, for some reason, it felt entirely natural.

 _Had he gotten drunk? Was he sick?_ A cool breeze wafted across Paul’s face and he nestled against John’s chest, tucking his face against the other man’s throat as he shivered uncontrollably, his breath coming in harsh, raspy wheezes. Nearby, he could hear George talking, something about a hospital and shock. _Who was headed to the hospital?_ _Was_ he _the one going to the hospital?_

Irritated, Paul shifted and he felt the arms around him tense. He couldn’t stop the whine in the back of his throat. _Christ, his chest hurt._ “John-”

“Easy, love. Just keep still for us.”

Oddly soothed, Paul relaxed again, content to let John take him wherever he deemed was best. Ringo’s voice also came from nearby, interspersed with Brian’s, but Paul couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

A car started and Paul felt himself being shifted around. John suddenly disappeared and Paul made a noise of distress as unfamiliar arms hooked around his shoulders and behind his knees. Paul struggled to open his irritated, swollen eyes as he tried to get away from whoever was holding him. He didn’t want to be carried by anyone except John.

“Calm down, Paulie, it’s just a moment-”

The sounds around him changed and Paul blinked his eyes clear just in time to find himself being placed into a car. The leather seat stuck to his legs and he cringed at the sensation, his nose beginning to run as his anxiety crested. _Why couldn’t he stop shaking? Where was-_

A strong arm curled around Paul’s shoulders and pulled him against gloriously warm side. A moment later, a blanket was dotingly tucked around Paul’s body, the soft texture pleasant against his chilled skin, and a familiar voice stirred the damp hair around Paul’s ear.

“Come here, that’s it. Christ, Paulie, you’re gonna shake yourself to pieces if you keep on-”

Paul turned his head and found himself staring into bottomless brown eyes. John’s closeness might’ve taken his breath away if Paul had had any to spare, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to stop panting. “What- h-happened-”

“You almost drowned, love. You’re gonna be okay though. Just look at me-”

The car lurched forward and Paul heard police sirens outside, close by. Sweat broke out on his forehead and Paul felt himself tilting forward, nausea boiling in his gut. _He’d almost drowned…_

Slowly, he began to remember what had happened, the details still unclear and fuzzy. _George and Ringo playing in the surf, Brian resting in his chair, him trying to sneak up on John._ The last thing Paul actually remembered was slipping beneath the waves. Then there had been his mother, fluttering and glowing in white as she took his hands and kissed away his tears…

 _Christ. He_ had _died then._

A strange tingling started up in Paul fingertips and he dug them into his knocking knees, desperate for something, anything, to hold onto. “Johnny- ”

 _He’d almost actually died._ Paul's throat felt raw and his lungs constricted as he began to hyperventilate, panic settling over him. Not only had he almost died, he’d almost died _without ever kissing John_.

John’s hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head. “Hey, look at me, Paul. Come on now. Let me see those pretty eyes of yours, yeah? Can you look at me?”

Paul opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and fixed his attention on John. The older man smiled. “There you are. No wonder they call you the cute one, with your pretty eyes.”

“John- I- I almost-”

“Shh, I know, baby. But you’re alright now. Come here-”

John, after glancing up at the rearview mirror, leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Paul’s pounding temple. He stayed in place for several seconds, not moving or speaking as Paul’s breathing began to slow. A large hand found Paul’s under the blanket and gave it a squeeze.

Eventually John pulled back, but he stayed close enough so that his lips still brushed Paul’s skin as he spoke. “How are we doing, Paulie?”

“Feel sick…”

“I imagine so, love. You drank half the Gulf, you did. People in Miami are just walking out to tour the shipwrecks now. Just walking out in their socks and finding treasure, dry as can be, since you drank the water level down.”

Paul imagined the tourists walking along the seabed, gawking about with their mouths hanging wide open and stupid. The visual coaxed a weak chuckle from Paul, triggering a nasty coughing fit.

John massaged the back of Paul’s neck as his lungs rebelled and tried to crawl up his throat, abdominals straining and clenching with the force of each hacking wheeze. The driver peered back at them via the rearview, a worried look in his eyes. “We’re almost to the hospital, Mr. McCartney. Just a minute or two to go.”

Unable to speak, Paul squeezed John’s hand through the pain. Tears pricked his sore eyes and Paul felt hot tears streak down his cheeks. Bile burnt the back of his raw throat and Paul distantly heard John say something to the driver.

Pitching forward suddenly, Paul was vaguely aware of a cup being thrust under his chin as he brought up a mouthful of foul sea water. A warm hand stroked his clammy forehead as Paul continued coughing, hard enough that he was making himself sick. To make matters worse, his sour stomach wasn’t cooperating at all, twisting every time he tried to pull in a breath.

“The joke wasn’t that funny, Paulie,” John quipped as he supported the bassist heaving form. “It certainly wasn’t worth bringing the water back up for.”

Though his words were teasing, Paul heard the worry in John’s tone as he continued coughing and making sick, unable to catch his breath between the actions. Exhausted but unable to stop, Paul rested his forehead on the back of the seat in front of him. John continued to rub slow circles on his back, still holding the cup under Paul’s mouth.

The car jolted as the driver finally pulled into the hospital and turned into the emergency area. Fortunately, as many of the fans thought that they were all still confined in their hotel, the lot was virtually empty. It was doubtful that it would remain that way for long though. Their whereabouts were never a secret for very long, it seemed.

Waiting at the emergency entrance door was a gurney, ready and waiting for them. The staff had already been notified of the accident and the famous patient that was on the way. As the car came to a stop, the hospital staff began to bustle toward them.

Paul leaned back with a pitiful groan as the car stopped outside the entrance. Before opening his car door, John took a corner of the blanket and gently wiped the bassist’s mouth clean before depositing a final kiss on Paul’s temple. “Almost there, love. You’re gonna be alright. We’re almost there…”

John moved to step out of the car, but Paul snagged his hand. Even though Paul’s grip was undoubtedly weak, John stopped and looked back, his full attention fixed on his trembling bandmate.

Paul, lacking the energy to be ashamed, blinked watery eyes up at the other man. “John- don’t- don’t leave-”

“I won’t leave if you don’t. Deal?” Paul felt himself nodding, even as the motion made his brain slosh in his skull. Satisfied, John smiled at him and squeezed Paul’s hand before letting go. “Alright then.”

A staffer appeared at the car door and handed John a plain white T-shirt. Hurriedly slipping it on, John bent to peer back into the car. “Ready to go, princess?”

Usually, the teasing nickname would’ve made Paul swipe the smug look off of John’s face. This time, however, he barely summoned enough energy to scoot across the car’s seat. It seemed that all of his strength had been sapped right from his body.

Paul wobbled on his feet, his hands gripping the doorframe desperately as his vision blurred with black spots. He would’ve tumbled backward into the car had John not stepped forward and swept him up in his arms.

Paul clung to the other man’s neck as John turned and gingerly sat him down on the arriving gurney. Doctors and nurses swarmed around them and Paul found himself being shifted to lay straight on the gurney, his head falling into a plush pillow. An oxygen mask was promptly fixed over his face and a heated blanket fell over him, covering him from chin to toe.

Though Paul tried to hold on, he somehow lost his hold on John’s hand amid the fussing crowd. “J- John-”

“S’all right, Macca. I’m right behind you.”

Having heard John’s voice nearby, Paul relaxed back into the care of the doctors and nurses. His head was so heavy, he doubted he would’ve been able to turn it had he tried.

Paul snuggled down beneath the blanket and closed his eyes, unable to stay awake a second longer. Around him, the unfamiliar voices of the hospital staff and the more familiar voices of George, Ringo and Brian began to blend and fall away, fading into a dull buzz at the edge of his consciousness. His last thought was of John, floating peacefully between the sunset-drenched ocean and a sea of stars.

.

John watched as the hospital staff bustled Paul away, busily hooking the bassist up to several machines. The urge to push his way forward nearly overwhelmed him, but John made himself stay back and out of the way. Feeling suddenly wobbly, he clamped a sweaty hand on the car’s open door. _Christ, his head hurt-_

“John?”

At the sound of his name, the guitarist slowly lifted his head. Brian was standing just a little ways off, his head cocked to the side as he studied the musician. At his side, Ringo and George were talking amongst themselves, watching as Paul disappeared into the hospital.

Well… at least John thought that the men were George and Ringo. They were warping and shimmering, melting into the darkness that was invading the edges of his vision…

One of the figures separated from Brian’s side and started toward him. “Aye, son. You don’t look so good-”

John opened his mouth to answer, but never got the chance. He had a vague sense of falling, his fingers slipping from the car's door as darkness invaded his vision.


	4. Paul

Paul felt as if he was floating, not in water, but in clouds. He curled his fingers and savored the silkiness beneath, then flexed them open again, over and over. Beside him he sensed another presence, one as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

Paul stretched, reaching for the other presence, but he couldn’t quite make it. Nor could he turn his head to see how close he was. A feeling of panic washed over Paul, choking him, and a pitiful whine escaped his parched throat.

“Easy, Paulie. You’re okay.”

Taking a shaky breath, the bassist registered that something was fixed firmly over his face, pushing cold air against his lips and nose. The voice above him was familiar, but it didn’t belong to the man whose hand he’d been reaching for. The man he’d been floating beside… _Where had he gone?_

“Get the doc, he’s coming around badly-”

Paul lifted a leaden hand and pawed at his face, trying to dislodge whatever was fixed over it, when another hand, one with long, slender fingers, wrapped around his wrist. Distressed, Paul turned his face away, his head rolling against what he realized, belatedly, was not a cloud, but a pillow. Beneath his fidgeting hands, Paul discovered sheets of… linen…

_He wanted to hold his hand; didn’t he have the most beautiful hands?_

“Mr. McCartney? Can you open your eyes for me, son?”

As Paul fought to steady his breathing, more of his surroundings began to filter in: the itchy feeling of the IV into his arm, the sound of papers turning and people talking. He darted his tongue out over cracked, dry lips and grimaced when he registered the feeling of anxious tears pricking his irritated eyes.

Blinking open said eyes, Paul found himself staring up at a plain white ceiling. In his periphery, a shape leaned over him. “Paul? Can you hear me?”

Paul nodded, his mind still lingering on clouds and strong, warm hands. As the man leaning over him came into focus, Paul saw that it was a doctor, likely in his late fifties going by his salt and pepper hair. He wore a kind smile as he flashed a light into both of his patient’s eyes. “Any pain in your chest? Difficulty breathing?” Paul shifted a bit and grimaced before nodding. “After what you’ve been through, I’m not surprised. How about dizziness? Maybe a bit of a headache?”

Considering for a moment, Paul nodded again, his body still feeling oddly light despite the weighted blanket that he lay under. The doctor wrote something down on his clipboard. “Again, that’s completely normal. I’m going to keep you on the oxygen for now. Since you’re awake though, we can switch you to oral antibiotics and fluids as early as this afternoon, I reckon.”

The doctor handed his clipboard to a waiting nurse before turning back to his patient. “Your chest is likely going to be sore for some time yet, but the dizziness should subside within the next several hours. So long as that mask stays in place, that is. The antibiotics are something I want to continue for a while longer. You’re body has taken a beating and I want to stave off any complications if we can.”

Tilting his head to look down at Paul over his glasses, the doctor gave him a serious look. “Mr. McCartney, I cannot understate how lucky you are to be here. Based on what I’ve been told and what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Mr. Lennon.”

The mention of John caused a strange flutter in Paul’s chest and he felt a blush crawl across his cheeks. He hoped that the mask would cover up the worst of it.

“Can you talk for me, Paul? Just so I know that you can. Salt water can do a number on the-“

“Where’s John?” Paul’s voice was a harsh croak in his throat, painful and hardly decipherable. The discomfort, coupled with the ugly sound, made Paul flinch. He doubted he would be singing for a long while.

Fortunately, the doctor understood Paul’s crackling speech and reached for a cup of water sitting on the bedside stand. He helped Paul move the oxygen mask aside and held the straw steady while Paul drank, grinning all the while, as if he was privy to a secret. “Mr. Lennon is doing well. He took a nasty knock to the head when he fell, but he’ll be fine.”

_John fell? From where?_

“- your friends in, Mr. McCartney. They’re quite anxious to see you awake, I’m sure. A nurse will be around later to check on you and pull the IV.”

Then Paul was alone, his mind and heart racing. _Had John gotten hurt?_ He’d been fine in the car, or at least Paul had thought that he’d been fine. Then again, Paul had been a bit distracted with his own near-drowning experience. _He’d hit his head? How had he-_

Paul’s train of thought was interrupted when a willowy figure burst into the room and made a beeline straight for him. The bassist had no time to react as he was pulled up into a tight embrace, his mask knocked askew by a knobby shoulder. Predictably, the assailant didn’t need to speak for Paul to recognize him right away.

Careful to avoid pulling on the IV, Paul shifted until he was able to properly hug George back. Across the room, Ringo and Brian appeared in the doorway, the first carrying a vase of flowers and the second balancing a cup of coffee in each hand. Both men had dark circles beneath their eyes, but they perked up considerably upon seeing Paul awake.

“Good to see you awake, Paul.” Brian set the vase of flowers down in the window sill and passed the accompanying note to Paul. “You’ll want to be calling Jane soon. Word has gotten out about the accident. The public seems to think that you’ve died and we’re keeping it under wraps.”

Releasing George from the bruising hug and taking the note, Paul frowned at the manager. “They think I’m… Brian, surely you-”

“Of course not. Jane knows that you are recovering and I’ve already released a statement. But you know the media, Paul. They are always searching for a tragedy to romanticize, you know.”

Understanding, Paul nodded and moved over so that Ringo could sit on the edge of the bed. The drummer gave him a weak smile. “How do you feel?”

“Alright. Throat hurts. Chest too. How long…?”

“You’ve been out since we got here last night.” George, who’d taken a seat on the other side of Paul’s legs, picked at a thread on the bed. He didn’t look at Paul, even when the bassist tried to deliberately catch his eyes.

Ringo’s trademark rings flashed under the hospital room lights as he sat the two coffees on the bedside table. “Doc says you should be out in a day or two. Long as no infections start up.”

Paul squinted over the mask on his face, catching on that Ringo wouldn’t look at him either. In fact, none of them would look at him. Even Brian had gotten quiet, stirring his coffee intently in the corner. “Rings? Geo? What’s wrong?”

At first, his question was met with silence, heavy and suffocating. After almost a minute had passed, George spoke up, his voice oddly strained. “It was awful, Paul.” When Paul at last managed to catch the younger man’s eyes, he could see that George’s eyelashes were matted with tears.

“It was awful. Seeing you like that-”

Ringo rested a steadying hand on George’s shoulder. “Geo, we-”

“He needs to know what it was like!”

George, usually so quiet, hiccupped loudly as he continued, a tear or two escaping to fall on the bedsheets. “You were dead, Paul! You were blue and still and none of us knew what to do-”

Taking ahold of his friend’s arm, Paul dragged George against his chest. “I’m sorry, Georgie-”

George was shaking, clinging to Paul with all the strength his slight frame possessed. “And John- when he c-carried you out of the water- Paul, you didn’t _move_ -”

“I’m alright now. Voice is shot, but I’m alright, yeah?” Clearing his throat and wincing, Paul sat back until he could rest his forehead against George’s. “See? I’m alright. Was just an accident, that’s all.”

“But you _weren’t_ alright, Paul. And if John hadn’t- if he hadn’t-”

Confused, Paul hugged George again as he addressed Ringo. “What did John do?”

He remembered that John had been the one with him in the car, holding him close and talking to him softly. Paul couldn’t be certain, but he was sure that John had also kissed him at some point, too. Everything was blurry. Really, Paul wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d dreamed that part.

Ringo reached to rub George’s heaving back. “He brought you back. He dove down and got you and then he… what’d he do, Brian?”

The manager glared down into his coffee, chewing savagely at his lower lip. “CPR, I think.”

Paul glanced between them. “’CPR’? What’s that?”

Ringo shrugged. “A new thing. The doctor was talking about it. Don’t know how John knew about it, but he started right on you when he got you on the beach. Pushing on your chest and... what was the other thing called?”

George cleared his throat and finally sat back, some of his composure regained. “Rescue breathes. The nurse called them rescue breathes.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s what the doc said. Rescue breathes.” Ringo smirked, his blue eyes glittering. “I thought he was kissing you awake, I did. Didn’t surprise me too much though, what with you looking like Snow White…”

Paul gave the drummer a venomous look, his cheeks ablaze as Ringo cackled a laugh. Fortunately, the bassist was saved from stuttering a response when he continued, more somber. “Anyway, that’s right. John saved you. Doubt if he’ll ever let you hear the end of it.”

Unbalanced, Paul fought to push down the blush that rose when he thought of John’s mouth covering his own, out in the open in front of them all, breathing for him when he couldn’t. Goosebumps jumped onto his arms and a chill raced down his spine. “Speaking of John… Where is he? The doc said that he fell?”

The other three shared a look before Brian stepped forward, setting his coffee in the window sill. “John stayed with you all night and only left about an hour ago to get some tests. He refused to go at first, but finally did when I threatened to call his aunt. We couldn’t even get him to sit for stitches-”

“ _Stitches!?_ ” Paul scrambled upright, his head spinning. “Brian, what happened? Where is he?”

Brian held up his hands placatingly, brow furrowed. “He’s just getting a few tests done to make sure. It’s not bad, but he does have a concussion so we’re taking-”

“John has a concussion? Christ-”

“Paul-”

Paul shoved the bed’s covers off and pushed himself upright, shooting an accusing look at the other three. “Why didn’t someone wake me up?”

“How would that have helped anyone?” Brian glared at him, incredulous. “Be reasonable, Paul. You nearly drowned yesterday and needed to rest-”

“What happened to John? How did he fall?”

George sniffed, drawing Paul’s attention. “He passed out and hit his head on the corner of the car door. Like Brian said, it wasn’t too bad, but they want to make sure, you know. So they’re running a few tests.”

“He passed out? Why did he pass out?”

Ringo shrugged. “The doc says he just over did it. The diving, the swimming, the CPR…”

George grinned for the first time, sharing a look with Ringo. “He fainted dead away, like a bird, he did. Really though, it was a bit scary at the time. He just got pale all the sudden and then the next thing we knew he was going down and Brian was yelling for another gurney.”

 _John fainted?_ Paul sat back, stunned. John had always had a habit of pushing his own limits, be it in a fist fight, in the studio or drinking at the pub. But he’d never outright fainted. “Is he really gonna be alright?”

George stood and took one of the cups from the window sill. “He’ll be alright, our John. He can’t see straight right now, even with his glasses on. But he’ll be alright.”

Paul lay back again, a headache beginning in his temples. _Stupid, stupid git._ Damn John and his… _John-ness_. It was so like him to do something like that, to get himself hurt while helping someone else. The daft lad would likely brush it off too, like it was nothing worth fussing over.

The bassist swallowed haltingly and tried not to think about it, about John being so spent and exhausted that he’d collapsed on the hot cement. Even worse, Paul hadn’t been there to catch him. Shaking a bit, Paul lifted a hand to massage his pounding head, grimacing as the ache started up in his sinuses too. _None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been so stupid-_

Ringo, sensing his friend’s inner turmoil, patted the bassist’s leg. “He should be back soon. He wasn’t too keen on leaving in the first place… likely he’s being a real arse to the nurses right now, trying to sweet talk his way out of it all.”

Before Paul could respond, Brian came forward. “I’m sure John will be here soon, Paul. So why don’t you just relax while we wait, eh? We don’t want you to overdo it like John did.”

Until that moment, Paul had been able to ignore how tired he was, bolstered on by his worry for John. But with the worst of his fears soothed, he began to realize just how tired he was. Nodding in agreement, Paul released a sigh and closed heavy eyes. “You’ll wake me up when he gets back, yeah?”

Ringo stood, allowing Brian to straighten the bed covers and tuck them more securely around Paul. “Sure we will. It shouldn’t be too long now.”

Nestling down into the covers, Paul was aware of the others talking quietly among themselves, discussing the mass of fans gathering outside and the release of another statement. It didn’t take long though before their voices fell away and Paul was floating again, his previous dream picking up where it had left off.

Just as before, John’s hand was always just out of reach.


	5. John

John crept through the hospital hallways, feeling his way along the walls to keep from falling on his arse. He’d promised the staff that he’d stay put, but it certainly wasn’t his fault that they’d believed him, was it? He had places to go, after all. There were who people needed him…

Slipping around a corner, he struggled to remember the room number that Ringo had thrown out earlier. _Bloody Hell_. He continued to curse and resisted the urge to thump himself upside the head.

 _Damned concussion._ They’d told him to lay down once they’d discovered it and hadn’t let him go back to Paul like they’d promised he could after the tests. Said that he need to rest where someone could wake him up every few hours. Squinting blindly at the room numbers he passed, John struggled not to cackle. _You can’t wake up someone who can’t sleep._

Everyone had left earlier in the evening with Brian insisting that George and Ringo go back to the hotel and rest before fate decided to take them down as well. Now, it being nearly midnight, the hospital’s hallway lights had been dimmed and the sound of patients sleeping wafted from the open doorways on either side. Stopping, John had to close his eyes for a moment as a wave of dizziness crashed over him, threatening to take him to the floor. It passed after a few seconds, but it was enough to make John slow his pace.

 _Christ, where was Paul’s room?_ Brian had forgotten to bring John’s glasses from the beach and he imagined that they were long gone, washed out to the sea most likely. Without them, he was as good as blind when it came to locating and reading the room numbers. It wasn’t their manager’s fault really that the glasses were gone. Poor Brian, along with the rest of them, had been preoccupied with the fact that Paul had almost _died_ -

John pushed the thought away and kept moving. He couldn’t think about that, not until later. He wouldn’t allow himself to relive the whole thing, not until he was alone and he could process.

But he couldn’t stop the visual from coming back once it started, the memories springing up right there in the hallway: _Paul’s blue lips, his sightless eyes staring at the sky, the way he’d lain so motionless in John’s arms-_

A choking sound startled John and he realized belatedly that he’d stopped walking and was leaning his full weight against the wall, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears.

 _Paul had actually tried to leave him._ Just like Julia had left him, her own body limp and broken in the road, or the way Stu had left him, his paintings fading into shades of gray before John’s tear-reddened eyes.

They’d left him in the end, had decided to go rather than stay and be with him. _And Paul had tried to leave him too-_

“Mr. Lennon? Is that you?”

John gasped and wiped furiously at his face, heart pounding against the inside of his ribs. Just up the hallway stood a shape, taller than him but not by much. As the figure came closer, John recognized the doctor, the one who’d tended to Paul and who’d sewn his own brow closed.

Once he was close enough for John to meet his eyes, the doctor spoke again. “You know that you shouldn’t be out of bed, John.”

Defiant, John stood his ground, even as his face continued to redden with embarrassment. The tears hadn’t yet spilled over, but he looked at the floor anyway, determined to hide. “Just looking for the loo. Don’t have me glasses, y’see-”

“Take my arm, son, before you bash the other side of that hard head.”

“I’m alright, I said, I just-”

“Come with me.”

Hesitating, John allowed the doctor to loop their arms together and they slowly made their way back the way John had come. For a moment, the guitarist considered making a run for it, but knew it was no use. Being both blind and dizzy, he’d likely make it two steps before he either ran into the wall or threw up the meager amount soup he’d been able to eat earlier.

He was confused when they arrived at a door a few moments later, one that was closed and locked. Releasing John’s arm, the doctor slipped a hand into his pocket and produced a key, sliding it into the lock. With a soundless twist, the knob gave away under the doctor’s hand.

Upon pushing the door open, the man retook John’s arm and guided him into the dimly lit room. It didn’t take long for John to recognize the space.

While he wasn’t able to clearly make out the man on the bed, John already knew that it was Paul, sleeping peacefully under a mess of blankets. Drawing closer, the young musician let go of the doctor’s arm and made his way to the chair beside the bed, sliding into it without once taking his gaze off of his bandmate.

Paul really did look angelic laying there, his long eyelashes resting on flushed cheeks, his eyebrows arched high and innocent, just shy of disappearing into his ruffled hair. Under the mask, John could see that Paul’s full, plush lips were parted as he breathed deeply and easily in his sleep.

John stared, transfixed. Really, he would’ve been happy to watch Paul just breath for the rest of his life.

Behind him, the doctor cleared his throat and John forced himself to look back at the older man. “I think you’re out of danger, Mr. Lennon, so I am allowing this just this once. Anyway, it’ll be easier to keep you both out of sight of the press if you’re in the same room together, I reckon.”

With an understanding smile and a wink, the doctor retreated back into the hall, pulling the door closed behind himself. The room fell silent once more and John turned back to Paul.

The bassist was still fast asleep, as beautiful a sight as John had ever seen. Without thinking, John reached out and took one of Paul’s smaller hands into his own. He marveled at the other man’s fingertips, calloused on the right hand instead of the left like John’s own. After checking that Paul was still fast asleep, John lifted Paul’s hand to his mouth and brushed a light kiss across the pale underside of his wrist, right where the blue veins pulsed near the surface.

John held still long enough to feel Paul’s heartbeat, thrumming away reassuringly beneath the skin, before he pulled his mouth away and settled for entwining their fingers together. Pushing away the warm feeling bubbling in his chest, John fought to calm his racing heart. He felt strangely giddy, like a young boy who’d just had his first kiss.

Settling down in the chair, John allowed his head to fall back. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really, it was Paul, after all. The man only needed to look at him and John felt as though fireworks filled with butterflies were exploding in his chest.

Still clutching Paul’s hand, John refocused on the other man’s face, wondering if he’d been the model for those classic paintings of angels in another life. Sometimes just touching him made John feel like he was intruding on something precious, something that deserved far better than John could ever hope to give. John thought again of kissing Paul’s temple, so smooth and salty under his lips when they’d been in the car. If he ever got the chance to kiss Paul again…

It was with those thoughts that John drifted away. He dreamed of lying in a canoe with Paul tucked under his arm, both of them staring up into a smooth, golden sky. As John watched, the canoe floating past fruit trees and origami taxis on the shore, Paul’s eyes changed into every color he’d ever known and few that John had never seen before. He was a living, breathing kaleidoscope, emanating brightness, so glorious that John wanted to get lost in him again and again and again.


	6. Paul

Awareness came slowly, languidly, falling over Paul like winter snow. He licked his lips, tasting the staleness of his own breath, and tried to ignore the grumble that emanated from his stomach. It was unusually loud and it took him a moment to figure out why: the room around him was silent.

Paul turned his head and rubbed his cheek against the pillow, rolling his shoulders as he did. It wasn’t until he went into a full body stretch that he registered a weight resting on his torso. Still feeling foggy, Paul cleared his throat and opened his eyes.

The window to Paul’s left was dark, the blinds left open to reveal the beginnings of a far off sunrise outside. The hospital room’s lights had been dimmed at some point as he slept and more flowers sat on the bedside table, a menagerie of color dimmed in the quiet of the night hour. Likely, they’d been left by the others before they’d departed the previous evening.

The weight on Paul’s belly shifted and he looked down.

A hand, far thicker and stronger than his own, rested on his torso, the fingers twined with Paul’s own smaller digits. When Paul moved his fingers, the other hand gripped his tightly and something fluttered in Paul’s chest. Following the arm back to its owner, Paul felt his breath stall.

John lay half on the bed and half in a chair, his hair fanned across the covers near Paul’s hip. His face, resting in the crook of his own folded elbow, was relaxed with sleep. Paul barely resisted the urge to reach out and trace a fingertip down the other man’s prominent nose, across his lips and over his strong jaw. Paul wasn’t sure how, but John had always managed to effortlessly look like some kind of Greek statue, his features seemingly cut from marble. The view was captivating… until Paul noticed the bandage wrapped around John’s head.

Trying not to jostle the other man, Paul reached across with his free hand and brushed his fingertips across the bandage. _All my fault_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully, and Paul threaded his fingers through the auburn hair above the bandage, a tightness forming in his chest. _John got hurt and it’s all my fault._

Being so focused on his self-chastisement, Paul didn’t immediately notice the almond-shaped eyes blinking up at him.

When their eyes finally did meet, Paul drew a shaky breath. He had nothing to say that would fit. ‘Thank you’ wouldn’t work, it wasn’t enough, and ‘are you okay?’ didn’t fit because John clearly wasn’t okay, not with the huge bandage encompassing his head. And the third option, well… Paul couldn’t afford to say it first. Especially if John didn’t feel the same way.

Paul stared at the other man, entranced by those warm, caramel-colored eyes, those lips, so prim and soft, lips that Paul found to be perfectly shaped when his bandmate smiled. There was only one word that Paul could say… the word that he treasured more than any other in all the world.

_“Johnny.”_

Slowly, the man in question sat up and Paul’s hand fell from his hair, coming to rest on the bed between them. Paul noticed then that there was something off in John’s face. His soul, usually present in his eyes, was closed off and hidden away. Paul watched as the other man’s Adam’s apple bobbed jerkily, his mouth twitching open and closed like a beached fish.

Unable to stand the sight of John so- so _distant_ , Paul blurted the next thing that he could think to say.

“I’m sorry!” Paul felt his cheeks burn and he looked away, down at their linked hands. He had intended for their first conversation after the accident to be less awkward. _Was it because of what Ringo and Brian and George had told him? About how John had carried him out of the water? Or was it the- what were they called again? Something about breaths-_

“Why are you sorry, Paul?”

Finally looking at John again, the bassist found that his bandmate still looked guarded, unavailable in that way that he was with almost everyone else. It hurt Paul to feel that same closed off gaze fixed on him. “I- I just am. I’m sorry for what happened.”

Panic rose in Paul’s chest as John released his hand, leaving it to feel cold and empty on Paul’s own lap. The other man stood from the chair, wobbling a bit on his feet, before he made his way over to the window. John’s voice was low as he spoke, facing away from Paul and watching the sky gradually turn from black to navy with the coming dawn. “You’ve no reason to be sorry. You did nothing wrong-”

“I’m sorry that you got hurt, John. This is all my fault.”

John turned back to him, so quickly that Paul forgot what he’d been saying. The guitarist’s next words shook him to his core. “You almost _died_ , Paul. You almost left me. _Just like the rest of them_.”

Paul could only stare at the other man as John, the ever sarcastic, witty, rude John Lennon, returned to the chair and sank down into it, as if too drained to stand any longer. “Paul, you were _gone_. Don’t you get that? I watched you sink, felt your body, it was so still, too still, and I- I just- it was-”

And then, suddenly, John was looking at him again. Their eyes connected and John’s soul was just as naked for Paul as it’d ever been in his entire life.

All of it was right there for Paul to see. The deeply seated fear, self-doubt, anger, ambition, wisdom, love… everything that made up the John Lennon that Paul knew. John’s brow was pinched, painfully wrinkled between his thick eyebrows and Paul wanted nothing more than to brush his thumb over them, to smooth the lines away with a gentle touch. Fresh tears sparkled in his honey-brown eyes, leaving John’s lashes sticky and thick, and Paul felt the sudden urge to kiss the salt away, to-

 _What was he thinking? This was his best mate!_ Horrified with himself, Paul broke their connection and began to savagely chew on a calloused fingertip, a bad habit he’d gotten into. Beside him, John had stopped talking and was tapping his foot, clearly agitated.

Paul knew that if he didn’t say something soon, John would take his reaction as a rejection. It wasn’t a rejection of any kind, but John would see it that way. He would see Paul shutting him down, would see that Paul was uncomfortable with John’s telling the truth about the way he’d felt.

In the end Paul chose the simplest route. If John could bare himself, then the least Paul could do is meet him in the middle.

Paul rested his hand over John’s where it lay on the edge of the bed. “I would never choose to leave you, Johnny. Never. You know that, right? I can’t promise I won’t die, but… I’d never leave you on purpose, y’know?”

John considered him carefully, his lips bitten tightly enough to hurt. As Paul watched, the guitarist’s right eye loosed a single tear. The bead of fluid trailed down John’s reddened cheek and caught on the corner of his pinched mouth, melting into the seam and vanishing from sight. On impulse, Paul let go of John’s hand and reached out, toward his face. He barely managed to stop himself from touching the tear stain on the other man’s cheek.

Turning red himself, Paul moved to yank his hand away, only to release an embarrassing squeak when John caught his wrist.

They both froze, neither one willing to move away or speak. John’s grip softened, but Paul didn’t pull back. Instead, he looked at the hand encircling his wrist and noticed, for the first time, that John’s veins formed a heart on the back of his right hand.

It was so like John, Paul decided, unable to look away from the heart now that he’d noticed it. Johnny was always giving his love away, but it would seem that his heart was not on his sleeve. Instead, it had been etched onto the back of his hand, right there for all to see. Always visible to a world that had hurt him time and again, a world that all too often left his offerings of love underappreciated and misunderstood.

Fortunately, Paul didn’t share the opinions of the rest of the world

Paul’s thoughts stuttered as he watched that heart-emblazoned hand retreat, pulling his own smaller hand along with it. He watched, breath bated, as John lifted their hands to his face…

And gently kissed Paul’s fingertips.

John never once broke their eye contact as he lingered over each of the callouses, chastely holding them to his mouth one by one before moving on to the next. It wasn’t arousing or intrusive, it wasn’t sexual or heated. John just blinked slowly at him as he chastely pressed kisses to the pads of Paul’s fingers, his eyes glittering a bit too brightly to be tear-free.

Paul knew then that the act was the closest John could get to saying what Paul had wanted to say all along. “I love you, Johnny.”

Another tear, this time on the left side, escaped and made its slow descent down John’s face. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I never could.”

Unable to stop himself, Paul tugged his hand from John’s. Suddenly, he found that he was too far away from the other man for his liking.

Wrangling the oxygen mask off of his own face with his free hand, Paul tossed it aside. He didn’t care where it landed as he reached for John and dragged him onto the bed by the front of his hospital gown.

Paul caught the look of surprise on John’s face a second before their mouths met and he feared momentarily that he’d gone too far. But when John whined helplessly into his mouth and lifted his own hands to cradle Paul’s face, Paul knew that he’d done the right thing.


	7. John

The moment Paul’s lips met his, John’s world ceased to turn.

Until that moment, it seemed, John’s entire life had been a black and white dream. Nothing had been real before, nothing had had any meaning. He’d written dozens of love songs, but he’d never known what they were really about, what they really meant.

Paul’s tongue, slick and warm, darted shyly across John’s lips and he couldn’t hold in a gasp. Two nimble hands began to caress John’s sides and he became suddenly hyperaware of everything that had happened, of the fact that Paul was there and alive. Paul hadn’t left and he’d gotten a _second chance_ , a second chance that he was using to _kiss John_. It was too much to comprehend, especially with Paul’s teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

Paul pulled back too soon and John chased after him, desperate to keep the connection. He only stopped when the bassist began to whisper soothingly, his hands calmly stroking John’s upper arms. “Shh, it’s alright, Johnny, we’re okay, it’s okay, calm down-”

John discovered then that he was panting harshly, his body trembling with fatigue and adrenaline. Embarrassed, John allowed his forehead to rest against Paul’s. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know, babe. I know.”

Of course Paul understood. He’d lost loved ones too, after all. Like John, he’d likely spent countless hours running over all the things he’d say and do with his mother if he could have just five more minutes with her. There were always too many things left unsaid, too many hugs and kisses never to be exchanged. To get a second chance with someone he loved, someone he’d hidden his feelings from for so long… it was no surprise that John was reacting the way he was.

“Christ, Paul… from the first day I saw you, you drove me a mad, you know.” John slowly began to settle down, his hands still noticeably shaking as Paul guided him onto the hospital bed and hugged him close.

Once they were both situated, Paul ducked to kiss at John’s hair, careful not to push on the bandage covering his temple. “When I saw you up there, singing that song… I knew I’d go with you anywhere if you’d let me.”

“What song was I singing?”

“’Come and Go With Me.’ Bit poetic, y’know? Like my future was calling.”

The older man buried his face against Paul’s neck and took a shuddering breath. “Oh, _Paul_.”

Clearing his throat, Paul ran careful fingertips across the bandage on John’s forehead. “How’s your head?"

“Bit dizzy still. Can’t see, but I don’t have me glasses anyway.”

“What happened to them?”

“Left on the beach, I reckon. Everyone was a bit excited, you see.”

Paul paused momentarily in his gentle petting of John’s hair. “Rings brought me my overnight bag earlier today, and… it might be a bit odd, but… I have a spare pair in my night bag.”

“A spare pair of what?” “Your glasses.” John pulled back to look down at Paul, noting the blush on the bassist’s cheeks as he continued in a rush. “I asked Mimi a while back for a pair. In case you ever needed them, y’know? I know you tend to leave them at home anyway, but I packed them just – oomph!”

John pushed a hard kiss against Paul’s lips and reached to tangle a hand in his dark hair. Upon giving the stands a light tug, Paul’s mouth fell up under John’s attack and the bassist released a sinful moan.

The sound sent a bolt of warmth straight to John’s crotch, but he pushed it down, recognizing that it was neither the time or that place. If anything did come of them, John knew that he wanted their first time doing anything together to be special. Preferably not on a hospital bed.

But when John finally pulled back, he almost rethought his decision to wait. Paul appeared completely debauched, his doe eyes unfocused and kiss-swollen lips parted with pleasant surprise, shiny from John’s kisses. Blinking dazedly, the bassist gave John a crooked smile. “What was that for, exactly?”

“You’re just… everything. That’s exactly it. You’re everything.” Without waiting for Paul to respond, John reached over and picked up the oxygen mask where it had been forgotten. “You should probably put this on, love. Doubt I’ll be able to stop kissing you tonight if you don’t, yeah?”

“I… I suppose so.”

As carefully as if Paul were made of antique glass, John slipped the mask over his face to cover his nose and mouth. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, he wrapped himself around Paul octopus-style, his arms and legs encircling the other man until one couldn’t tell where the other ended. “This alright?”

Paul nodded wordlessly and slipped an arm beneath John, angling himself until he could cradle the back of guitarist’s head in his palm, keeping him close.

With Paul surrounding him in both body and essence, John allowed his eyes to slip closed. Just as sleep began to fall over him, a kiss brushed his stubbled cheek and a warm hand found his under the blankets. The best part was that it wasn’t a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding another chapter by request ;)


	8. Paul

Paul nudged his bandmate’s leg under the table and John jumped, obviously lost in his own world. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward a bit. “What was that?”

The reporter, not seeming to notice John’s lapse, continued to gaze up at him with starry eyes. “I asked how you knew what to do? How did you know that CPR would save Mr. McCartney?”

Off to the side, Paul saw Brian purse his lips. It had been two weeks since the incident and he’d finally talked John and Paul into giving an interview on what had happened. George and Ringo, even though they’d been there, weren’t required to be present. It was just John and Paul at the table.

John had been against the idea from the beginning. Paul hadn’t been keen on it either, but at least he hadn’t been the one that refused to even consider doing an interview until the night before. That’d been John.

Paul felt John’s hand under the table, tapping a nervous rhythm on his own thigh. “I’d read about it,” he answered nonchalantly, giving a strained laugh. “Reckoned it would work if the military was using it, see.”

“And how is your concussion, Mr. Lennon? We were told that you needed stitches…”

John reached up and pulled his fringe aside, just enough to bare the spot above his temple. The room leaned forward to see the neat little scar there, still pink but well on its way to healing. “Whole thing took a bit out of me and I fell. Smacked me head on the car’s door, I did. Nothing long lasting, though I’m sure the rest of them wouldn’t mind if it were.”

The reporters laughed, charmed, and Paul felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Another reporter stepped forward, her blonde curls bouncing. “Mr. McCartney, how did it happen? Was there an undertow? Had there been any drinking earlier in the evening?

Beside him, Paul felt John suddenly stiffen, but a nudge from Paul’s knee reminded him to keep quiet. Smiling politely, Paul struggled to keep from fidgeting with his hands. “No, no, I just got a bit further out than I’d intended, y’know?”

The woman cocked her head, beagle-like. “Can you- Do you not know how to swim?”

Unsure of where this was going, Paul felt his smile begin to slip. “No, or not very well, I suppose. Like I said, I was-”

“So… would you agree that you should’ve taken more precautions? That you wouldn’t have endangered John’s life too if you’d been more careful? What if he’d drowned trying to-”

John stood, so suddenly that Paul jumped. “We’re finished here.”

Paul, still seated, found himself frozen in place. The woman’s words weren’t new to him, of course. He’d berated himself enough over the past two weeks, asking the ceiling those exact same questions every night. Even Brian had eluded that he held a similar opinion, that Paul should’ve been more careful. But for it to be said out loud… to be reminded that John could’ve…

A strong hand looped under Paul’s arm and he felt himself being hauled onto his feet. Stumbling, Paul barely managed to find his footing before John was hissing in his ear, warm breath tickling his skin. “Go. We’re leaving.”

“But-”

“Brian can handle it. _Walk_.”

Seeing no other option, Paul scrambled away from the table, his cheeks beginning to burn. Behind him, he could faintly hear Brian stuttering an explanation, excusing their quick exit. Paul suddenly couldn’t find it within himself to care.

 _It was true, he could’ve gotten John killed._ It was already bad enough that John had gotten hurt-

John’s presence was right behind him, heavier than a brewing storm as Paul flung himself into the waiting car, not sparing the fans around them a single glance.

It wasn’t until the door closed and the sound of the screaming girls was muted that Paul realized he was shaking. Holding his hands up, he saw that they wouldn’t hold still, no matter how hard he tried to stop their jittering. Even his breathing was a tad too fast for him to hide.

As the car pulled away from the crowd, John spoke, his voice clipped. “Ned?”

The driver glanced at them knowingly in the rearview. “Yes, John?”

“Eyes forward, yeah?”

“Of course, sir.”

Not a second later, Paul felt himself being pulled sideways into a heated kiss.

Determined to compose himself, Paul only allowed himself a moment or two before he pulled back and looked away, avoiding John’s eyes. “It’s alright, I know-”

“Yes, you should know.” John’s voice was a low snarl, a sound that lifted goosebumps along Paul’s arms. John never used that voice, not unless he was afraid and angry with himself for it.

Nervous, Paul combed a clumsy hand through his hair and put on a smile. Unfortunately, it wobbled away the moment that he looked at John. The other man was studying him with all the focus of a hawk, his eyes cutting away the weak veneer that Paul had hurried to put in place.

Trying to laugh, Paul felt it strangle and die away in his tight throat. “It’s just the press, y’know? They’re gonna say things like they always do. Damn I could use a ciggie right ab-”

“That _bitch!_ ”

Startled by John’s sudden outburst, Paul flinched and the car swerved a bit, telling him that the driver had jumped too. But John kept going, his fury rising as he glared out the window. “You almost _drowned_ , Paul! You almost- you almost _died!_ And all she could think to ask is if you felt guilty? If you should’ve been more _careful?_ Not about whether you were okay or-”

“I could’ve been.”

John, who’d been staring out the window, whipped around to face him. “What did you say?”

“John-”

“Don’t ‘John’ me. _What did you say?”_

Paul swallowed and shoved his hands between his knees, feeling sick. “She’s right. I _should’ve_ been more careful out there. I already told Brian that I-”

“Did fucking _Brian_ say something to you?” Lightning flitted through John’s eyes then, furious and glad to find an outlet for his rage. “I swear, when I get me hands on that bastard, I-”

“Just STOP!”

Paul’s voice broke and he looked at John, pleading. “They’re all right, don’t you see? You could’ve gotten hurt; in fact, you did get hurt, John. But it could’ve been worse, and it was all because I wasn’t being careful.”

John just stared and Paul gritted his teeth, unable to go on. John couldn’t understand. He hadn’t been the one saved like a… like a…

_Like a princess._

Ringo’s Snow White comment flitted through Paul’s mind and his fingers curled into the leather seat. The more he thought about the whole things, the more pathetic it sounded. _Of course_ he’d been the one who needed saving-

“Paul, don’t do that.”

Paul blinked itchy eyes up to John. “W-what?”

“I can almost hear that brain of yours turning.” John tapped a finger on the bassist’s forehead before cupping his cheek in his palm. “It could’ve happened to anyone. Could’ve been George, or Rings. Could’ve even been _me_. It wasn’t your fault and it isn’t something to be ashamed of. _It could’ve happened to anyone_.”

The car pulled into the hotel and both men got out, thanking Ned before rushing toward the door. Around them, the fans amassed outside the hotel tried to push through the barricades, screaming as John and Paul ducked into the relative safety of the hotel.

Once in the lobby, Paul continued talking as they waited for the elevator. “You could’ve died, John. You could’ve gotten hurt worse-”

“Guess that means you’re worth it to me, doesn’t it? And really, love,” John waited for the elevator doors to close before he leaned in and kissed the tip of Paul’s nose. “You should know better than to listen to them. We know us better than anyone, don’t we now? And the truth is that you save me every day. I’m just trying to catch up, see.”

Paul knew his face must’ve been cherry red as he hid an embarrassed smile. “Oh, shut it, John, would you? Get too soft and nobody’ll recognize you-”

“I doubt they even notice me anyway, love, certainly not when you’re around. Such a handsome lad as you, with your long legs and that warm, sweet voice…”

Paul squirmed as John grinned, clearly pleased with himself. Over the past two weeks, John had been showering Paul with compliments. He’d discovered rather quickly what made Paul plush and stutter, what made Paul weak in the knees and warm in his trousers. They hadn’t had a moment to themselves since the incident, but Paul hoped that they would soon… he already knew that he wouldn’t last very long. Not after two weeks of unresolved sexual tension and John’s steady bestowal of praises.

Stopping outside Paul’s room, the bassists didn’t hesitate before dragging John into a rough kiss, one that, by the time it ended, left John sleepy-eyed and breathless. The sight of John after such kisses always left Paul feeling amused and proud. The guitarist wasn’t the only one who’d been teasing over the past two weeks.

Struggling to compose himself, John shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. "I was thinking last night and… I had an idea.”

“That’s dangerous thing, Lennon, an idea from you…”

“Aren’t you just a funny one, eh? No, seriously.”

Paul rested his forehead against John’s and breathed a sigh, enjoying the closeness of the other man. “Alright, what is it then?”

“I was thinking... we could teach you how to swim.”

“ _No_.”

John pulled back, giving him a hard look. “Why not?”

“I just… “

“Hm?”

“John, I don’t know if I… I’m not sure about going out there again.”

“To the ocean? Don't be silly, we’d use the pool, love. Just you and I so nobody’d be watching. And Paulie…” John took both of Paul’s hands and, one by one, kissed each set of knuckles, making Paul blush. A slight but genuine smile quirked John’s mouth. “I’d feel better if you knew how. Just so, you know, I wouldn’t have to worry about going through that again. The almost losing you, I mean.”

Paul squeezed John’s hands and gave him a weak smile of his own. After a moment, he leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on John’s cheek. “I suppose we could give it a try. I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to dunk you once or twice.”

John wiggled his eyebrows at his bandmate before stepping away in the direction of his own room. “Or snogging me in the water. Lovely that is…all wet and salty…”

“You’re incorrigible, y'know?”

“I know you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that one fic that you're trying to close but you can't find the perfect ending yet? Yeah, me too. It's this one :)


	9. John

John shivered as the water, cool and crisp, rose further up his legs with every step he descended. The night air was already I bit nippier than he’d expected it to be and he could feel the goosebumps popping up on his exposed arms. Perhaps night time lessons weren’t his brightest idea…

But when else would they be alone? Behind him, Paul kept checking the perimeter fencing, nervously twisting his hands together and eyeing the pool water. He’d been insistent that no one be around to watch. Even George and Ringo weren’t allowed to join them.

John chuckled at the memory of the conversation as he reached the bottom of the steps, the water only coming to his mid chest. Poor Geo had been so angry that he wasn’t allowed to be there and had almost fought with John over the issue. Brian hadn’t been pleased either when John had notified them with finality that he was going to teach Paul how to swim and that they were going to do it alone. The manager had insisted that at least two life guards be present, one for John and one for Paul, just in case anything should happen. But John had shut the idea down quickly, especially when he’d seen the color drain from Paul’s face.

“John?”

At the sound of his name, the guitarist turned back and felt his breath leave him.

Paul stood at the edge of the steps, his doe eyes wide with anxiety. The lights in the pool made the shifting water sparkle and John couldn’t help but marvel at the way the reflection danced across Paul’s skin, catching on the pale expanses of his chest and thighs. Slowly, Paul descended the steps, his slim legs slowly vanishing into the rippling water…

_Focus, Johnny-boy,_ John thought, feeling a dart of warmth shoot up and down his spine. _Now is not the time._

Returning to the steps, John ducked under the water to wet his hair before resurfacing and gazing up at Paul. The bassist’s cheeks were rosy as he blinked down at John, still three steps shy of reaching the pool’s floor. John sank until only his chin cleared the crystalline water, fanning his arms wide to keep his balance. “You coming in, love?”

“Course I am. Just a bit cold, see. Taking my time.”

Biting his tongue, John held back a teasing remark. He knew that it wasn’t the chill that made Paul so hesitant.

As Paul continued further into the pool, John had to push down the sudden rage that filled his veins. Ever since the interview with the pushy reporter, Paul hadn’t quite been himself. He’d been quieter, more withdrawn, a far cry from the naturally charming disposition that he usually had. The interview had really done a number on Paul’s confidence, and John couldn’t help but muse on how a single comment, how a single twist of a situation could tear into a person so completely.

Paul grimaced as the water finally reached his chest. “Ugh, should’ve thought this through, Johnny. It’s bloody _freezing_.”

John barked a laugh and resisted the urge to swat a wave of water at Paul. He hadn’t forgotten Paul’s hesitation to get into the water. Taking it slow would be the best route.

Wiggling his eyebrows, John stood up. “You ready to get started?”

The bassist tore his eyes away from the water lapping at his own chest, biting his lip. “I- sure I am. Sure.”

John allowed the teasing smirk to drop from his face and he moved closer to Paul, the water stirring languidly around him. “We don’t have to do this, y’know. We could always just-”

“I’m ready, I said!” Seeing John’s look of surprise, Paul bowed his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, I just-”

John slipped a finger under Paul’s chin and lifted until their eyes met. “I won’t let anything happen to you, understand? Worst that could happen is I get your pretty face wet when I kiss you in a bit.”

“Christ, John.”

“You love it.” Smirking, John extended both of his hands, palm up.

Swallowing and giving John a pointed look, Paul placed his palms against John’s, their fingers closing around each other’s forearms. John noted the slenderness of Paul’s wrists and was again reminded of how lucky he was to touch something so lovely and precious.

Trying to clear his thoughts, John pulled them a bit deeper into the pool, stopping when the water lapped at their chins. Paul’s hands clasped hard at John’s wrists and he tilted his head back, eyes wide. “John-”

“I’ve got you.” John tensed his arms in preparation. “We’re just gonna start with you kicking at first. You can still touch if you stretch, but we want you to get the motion down, see? I’ll hold you up, so go ahead and push off the bottom.”

John felt the grip on his forearms tighten as Paul tried to gently lift off of the bottom. But when the bassist found that he was sinking quicker than he was kicking, he adjusted clumsily, his chin dipping briefly as fear flashed across his face.

John smiled encouragingly. “Good, good, just like that. There you are…”

Paul kept kicking, correcting the strength of his kicks as time went on, his body lifting in the water and some of his weight leaving John’s forearms. Clearly pleased with himself, he smiled across at the guitarist, crow’s feet framing his sparkling eyes. “Bit easier without waves hitting you, isn’t it?”

Paul kept kicking, his long body stretching out as John turned and slowly walked them backward toward the shallow end of the pool. He grinned fondly at the other man, giving him a wink. “Whatever you say, Macca. Whatever you say.”

Stopping when the water level had fallen to his chest once more, John gestured for Paul to stand and, though reluctant to give up his new talent, Paul touched down and released John’s wrists. “Next is treading water and floating. To start, you use your arms like this.”

John dropped down in the water and fanned his arms in and out in circles. Paul watched, a determined set to his eyebrows, as John lifted his feet off of the bottom and sank a bit lower until only his face was above the water.

After a few moments, John rolled his hips forward, stretched his arms wide, and tilted backward, coming to rest on the surface of the water. Allowing his eyes to fall closed, he took a moment to appreciate the weightlessness of his body, the way the water held him so precariously between itself and the open air. He’d always loved to just float, to let go…

Beside him the water shifted, and John turned his head to find Paul slowly laying back, his face pinched in concentration as he tried to relax into John’s position.

“Here, hold on…” John sat up and moved behind Paul, allowing the younger man to lean back against him. Their eyes connected as Paul’s feet left the pool bottom and John’s hands came to rest beneath his shoulder blades, offering a sense of security as the water took most of Paul’s weight.

They stared at each other upside down for a few seconds before Paul released a nervous giggle. “Not quite how you did it, but…”

“I’m gonna let go of you, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

John slowly ran one hand down Paul’s arm until he reached his hand and could twine their fingers together. Then, John lay back himself, gazing up into the sky overhead.

Though the bright city lights dimmed the stars considerably, it was still possible to see the brightest ones overhead. John had heard once that to look at the stars was to look into the past, and that the light from some stars reached Earth many years after the stars themselves had faded away into nothing. The thought that those stars could still be seen, could still be so bright even years after their deaths, made John’s heart stutter.

“Hey, Paul?”

“Yeah, John?”

“You know I’m gonna love you forever, right?”

“John-”

“No, wait. Just… just let me finish.” John fixed his eyes on the stars, knowing that if he looked at Paul he’d lose both his nerve and his thought process. “Someday, the band is gonna be gone. It just happens, y’know? Someday we’re gonna be gone, too, food for the worms and all that. But I want you to know something…”

A splash drew John’s attention and a moment later Paul’s face appeared above him.

Paul looked like he was part of the sky itself and John tried to imagine what all of the stars together must look like, twinkling like a thousand diamonds tucked into the bassist’s velvety hair. John stared as the bassist’s eyes caught the water’s reflection, glittering with all of the colors that a pair of hazel eyes could possibly possess. To John, Paul was angelic. He was surreal. He was eternal.

“Look at you,” John breathed as he swept a shaking hand through Paul’s soaked hair. “So beautiful and bright.”

Paul smiled at him, upside down. “Blind as a bat, you are.”

Snorting, John rolled over, purposely splashing at Paul in the process. While the bassist sputtered and wiped the water from his eyes, John waded back into the deep end of the pool. “Time for the final bit, son. You’re gonna kick off the bottom right there and swim to me. You can touch the whole way, but try not to.”

John planted his feet on the bottom of the pool and Paul squinted at him, a sly look coming over his face. Languidly, he stretched his arms over his head, putting on a show. “And what do I get when I reach you?”

John pretended to consider before shrugging nonchalantly. “Suppose we’ll decide when you get here, eh? But it’s not looking like you will. Not with you stalling like you are-”

“Pushy git.”

“You love me for it.”

“… Maybe.”

Settling down, Paul bit at his lip and allowed himself to sink in the water. He fanned his arms out, working them in circles like John had shown him to do, and began to kick, his chin dipping beneath the water once or twice before he got into a rhythm. Paul’s gaze remained intently focused on John as he slowly began to make his way across the pool, touching the bottom intermittently as he needed to.

As far as John knew, nothing sapped a man’s strength like swimming did, especially if you were knew to the activity. As John watched, his own anxiety rising, Paul faltered and water washed up into his mouth. Paul went under, though it was only a moment or two before he popped back up again, still calm and determined. As Paul continued to struggle, John found that he could barely stop himself from darting forward, his heart in his throat. Gasping and sputtering, Paul paused for a moment before continuing to kick his way toward John.

The moment Paul was within reach, John grabbed him and pulled him to his chest, taking the other man’s weight. Despite the audible tremor in his voice, Paul released a victorious whoop. “I made it! Gotta admit, it was a bit touch and go there, but we made it!”

John grinned, suddenly unable to look away from Paul’s smiling face. “Well I knew you could do it. Might take a bit to get comfortable, but I’d say you’re on your way.”

Suddenly sobering, Paul fixed John with a soft look, one that made John hold onto him even more tightly. The bassist leaned forward and claimed a single chaste kiss before leaning back again, but only far enough so that his forehead could rest lightly against John’s. “I know I already said it, but-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Paul.”

“I know, but… I want to. This is what I want for reaching you, okay?”

”...okay.” John remained still as Paul looped his arms around his neck, bringing them flush against each other. It took all of John’s waning willpower not to squeeze the bassist’s arse and ruin the moment. Nodding, he waited for Paul to continue.

“Just… thank you. For everything.”

“Paul-”

“For more than- for more than saving me, Johnny.”

Confused, John pulled back a bit and squinted at the other man, finding that Paul’s cheeks were stained cherry red. Taking a steadying breath, Paul forced himself to continue.

“Ever since the first time I saw you, I knew that I’d be thanking you for the rest of my life. Didn’t know how or why. Didn’t know what we would become. I just knew that I would be thankful to you forever, see. Just for existing… for letting me exist near you.”

Paul glanced up, timid eyes finally meeting John’s. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… thanks for being my home, John. Because the more I write and sing about love, the more I realize that home isn’t always a place. Sometimes, it’s a person. And that’s what you are, John Winston Lennon. _You are my home_.”

“Jesus, Macca… are you done?”

“Oh. I mean, sure. Yes. Yes, I’m-“

“Can I kiss you now?”

Paul’s laugh was higher than usual, relief coloring the tone. “Well, after embarrassing myself so thoroughly, I hope you do.”

And John did.


End file.
